Time Will Tell
by purefreckles
Summary: Sherlock has managed to shatter Moriartys web and call off the killers. He can finally come home, but what response will his friends give when a dead man shows up on their doorstep? (Post-Reichenbach)
1. Time Well Spent

John sat in his big armchair, staring out the window at the city. This was a nice flat, perfect for two people. His cane leaned against the arm of his chair, a sort of nagging reminder that John had learned to accept. He heard a newspaper hit the door, so he stood up and limped over to get it, grimacing until he got back to his seat. He propped his leg up on the brown leather ottoman in front of him and unfolded the paper, as was routine. He still nearly expected stories about Sherlock to be there, he closed his eyes and dispelled the thought.

It had been nearly three years since the fall. So much had happened since then. The first year was terrible, nearly everything reminded him of Sherlock, and John wanted to break down every time anything did, at one point he was close to killing himself. He went to grief counseling and group sessions, but he hated it, every second of it.

A man stood at one end of the circle, and was making a speech of some sort, something about "It will all get better with time". His therapist had suggested him come, god, he hated that woman. John sighed and made as if to roll his eyes, when he saw her, doing the exact same thing. Except she was beautiful.

A simple kind of beauty. Her skin was pale, but not without warmth, and her hair fell down her back in a cascade of rippling golden waves. And her eyes were a soft blue, like the color of the sky on a clear, crisp, Autumn day. But it was her mind that ended up getting him.

After the session they chatted, and for the first time in a long time John let Sherlocks tragedy slide to the back of his mind. One thing led to another, and here he was, sharing a flat a flat with Mary Morstan.

John sighed and smiled. His life was perfect at last. He had a great job, a great house, and an amazing girlfriend. But then he thought about Sherlock and cringed, apologizing profusely in his head. He had also considered his life perfect in 221B. Though chaotic, it was exactly what he had dreamed of when he had joined the forces; the excitement, the adrenaline, the togetherness, even the sheer terror. But John hated comparing, it made him think about which life he preferred and what he would trade, and those were terrible thoughts.

A quick vibration from his pocket broke him from his reverie.

_I got reservations at Amaya Grille for Friday. -MM_

John's eyes widened, he and Mary had wanted to go there for months now, but the waiting list was seemingly endless.

_Wow! How did you manage that one? -JW_

_ Shhh. It's a secret. -MM_

_ Mmhm. Well, as long as you didn't do anything too dastardly. ;) -JW_

John grinned. Mary had just set up the perfect time for him to propose without even knowing it.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes walked briskly down the the crowded sidewalk, he knew exactly who he was looking for. She was several people in front of him. He dodged in and out, trying to het around these pathetically slow obstacles. She was a fast walker, even loaded down with groceries, and easily darted between people. He sighed and shouldered several people out of the way, finally nearing her. He slipped his hand into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone; and iPhone, with a sensible blue case. _MM_ was engraved on the back, _with love._ He smiled a sad smile, remembering John and his sentimental ways. He had spent the last three years traveling the world to save John and his other friends. He remembered a time when 'friends' was an alien word. Now it was the purpose behind the journey that took up nearly three years of his life. The only thing that had kept him going was playing out in his head what would happen on his arrival home and how each reunion would go. He needed everything to be perfect.

That's why he needed this woman in particulars phone. He quickly figured out the passcode (marywatson, all Sherlock could do was shake his head.) and opened Messages. John was already at the top of the list. Sherlock quickly typed the message and hit send.

_I got reservations at Amaya Grille for Friday. -MM_

Sherlock looked up at Miss Morstan. She would soon realize her phone was missing, so when John replied Sherlock sighed in relief. He was almost afraid that John wouldn't reply. It was nice to hear from John, even if it wasn't in person of meant for Sherlock exactly.

_Wow! How did you manage that one? -JW_

_Shhh. It's a secret. -MM_

Sherlock had scrolled through several of Mary and Johns more recent conversations and easily adapted to her playful writing style. Sherlock glanced at Mary quickly and knew that time was running out; she was nearly home.

_Mmhm. Well, as long as you didn't do anything too dastardly. ;) -JW_

Winky face. Sherlock would have rolled his eyes had he been the type. He quickly deleted the messages from the phone. The timer in his head ran out and Mary was reaching for her pocket. Thinking quick, as always, Sherlock ran into her and dropped the phone.

"Oh! Terribly sorry," He reached down and picked it up, Mary smiled forgivingly and took it, "Good thing you have that case," He smiled and she laughed, turning down the narrow street that led to her flat. Sherlock watched, not being able to help how happy he was for John, even though he was also terribly jealous. He pushed down his emotions as quickly as they came, knowing there was still much to do.

[Don't worry there is more to come, next chapter only needs to converted from the pages of my notebook to the computer. Review and tell me what you think.]


	2. Counting Down

"John darling, I'm home!" John looked over to see Mary struggling with several bags of groceries, and hobbled over to help her.

"How was work?"

"Dreadful." She answered playfully, pecking him on the check.

"Nothing eventful? At all?"

"Nope, the children were lovely, as usual. The only half exciting thing that happened was I nearly broke my phone on the way home,and that wasn't even much of a thrill," While she talked, she and John put away groceries. John smiled slightly, enjoying any story Mary had to tell, "The man who made me drop it was quite nice, he stopped to pick it up for me. Let me tell you, you could cut yourself on the chee- damn. I knew I forgot something."

"What did you forget? I can get it on my way home form work tomorrow."

"The milk." John cringed and Mary touched his shoulder, concerned.

"Was it what I said?"

"Yea. It's fine though, I'm fine." A painful smile tugged at his lips, and Mary leaned over to hug him.

"As long as you're okay." She looked him in the eye and released him. By this point she knew all about the fall, and he knew just as much about her father. His situation with Sherlock came up much more than her fathers disappearance and assumed death, but yet she still didn't know half of the things that triggered him. He had told her everything, and resolved with 'Sherlock's not a fake." She believed him wholeheartedly.

She could tell he missed Sherlock, but as every day went by he sighed less, and didn't flinch at commonplace things like he used to.

"I'll still get milk after work tomorrow."

"Thank you." She kissed him on the forehead. He still blushed, even after two years.

Mary left for the bedroom to get some much needed rest. John just stood there, thinking about the ring he would get her. He was tired, but he knew he'd never get to sleep with his mind whirling like this. He needed a walk.

* * *

Sherlock glanced at his watch. Nine o'clock. Ms. Hudson would be awake for at least another half an hour. He still had his key, which made things quite convenient. He stepped inside; it was musty. Ms. Hudson wasn't taking care of the place like she used to. He listened, some late-night crap telly was on. He moved noiselessly up the stairs and into his old flat. 221B.

It smelled like dust. Everything was draped in white sheets, the shelves empty, for the books were packed away in boxes by the table. He yanked the sheet off of his chair rather gracelessly and sat down. he would certainly need restore his books to their former places and clean the furniture. Truthfully, he was surprised John hadn't sold any of it. But then again, John was attached. He stood, ready to consult Ms. Hudson. Then something caught his eye. An odd lump by the window. With two strides he was standing over it. he reached down and pulled back the sheet.

His violin.

He opened the stiff case and lifted the velvet cloth. He ran his fingers up it's still glossy body, finally resting on the neck. He lifted it from the case along with the slim, beauteous bow. There was still a hint of rosin left on it, so he positioned the instrument on his shoulder and lifted the bow to the strings- and stopped. Giving her a scare such as this was not how he planned on alerting Ms. Hudson he was alive. So he just stood, staring out the window, violin at his feet, hands steepled under his chin, thinking.

* * *

Thinking. That was what John had been doing when his feet managed to take him here. He stood at the end of Baker Street. His heart jumped a little, actually quite painfully. He told himself to turn around and go back,but obviously his feet had different intentions.

Now he stood opposite the old flat. he really couldn't bring himself to look up. he could already feel a panic attack coming on. He slowly lifted his head to gaze at the second floor. He could swear he felt his heart stop.

There, silhouetted in the floor length window was a figure, tall and lean. Recognizable instantly. He stared at it for what felt like an hour, and it seemed as if the figure stared back. John shut his eyes slowly, and held them closed for a good while. When he opened them the window was empty, just as John had figured it would be.

He turned away. His feet were moving again without his command. he supposed they were done whatever they were trying to do. A single tear fell.

* * *

Sherlock gazed out onto Baker Street, taking in everything new. That fire hydrant had repainted within the last several months, and the old woman who had lived on the third floor across the street was gone, most likely dead.

He looked down at his hands, he was dead too. He flexed his long fingers, 17 muscles at work in each of his palms, 18 in each of his forearms. Not really dead, not dead like the woman across the street.

He stopped assessing his hands. Someone was watching him. He looked up. It took all that he had to not stumble backwards. John. Sherlock stared back, John's face illuminated by the streetlight. 3 seconds until John blinked.

2.

1.

Sherlock jumped to the side, his back against the bookcase. He remained there for what seemed like forever, afraid to risk it. He peeked out the window, John had turned away and started walking. Sherlock breathed out, not realizing he had been holding it.

A ticking noise caught his attention. His watch. It was time to see Ms. Hudson.

[Here it is, time for the first reunion. Hope you're enjoying so far.]


End file.
